The Quiet Side of the Moon

No one noticed Mira.

Under a sycamore tree that blossomed late and shed early, she sat on the same bench in the university courtyard every morning. She sketched faces she never dared to meet, listened to delicate jazz in one earphone, and lived in a tranquil orbit.

However, she glanced up every Tuesday at 9:15 a.m. And Theo Larkin was there.

Theo was not unusual in the sense that stories like to make him seem. He once spilled coffee on his own thesis in front of half the faculty, wore socks that did not match, and laughed too loudly. But he was... gravity to Mira.

She observed how he used his hands to speak and how his eyes narrowed when he attempted to comprehend anything profoundly. She observed things that no one else did, such as the fact that he always let people go ahead of him in the lunch line or that he would hesitate for a moment before responding to questions in class.

She committed him to memory like a poem.

He also did not see her.

Mira did not think love would return. She did not wait for destiny to bring them together or write fictional confessions. In a gentle way, she simply adored him. The moon's love for Earth is aloof, loyal, and unseen during the day.

She drew his portrait one winter afternoon in her notepad, which she kept private. The flutter in his smile and the curvature of his jaw were tinted by a gentle pencil. She wrote, "Even shadows fall in love with the light," beneath it.

She did not see him again after that day.

Theo received his degree early. an international scholarship. A sign that was attached to the board of the literary department informed her of this. He was gone in an instant, with no farewell or gradual fading.

Mira retained the bench. continued drawing. continued to circle a universe in which he had once been. It was not a dramatic aching. It was soft. similar to applying pressure on a bruise you do not want to heal.

Years went by.

She started working as a children's book illustrator. She frequently drew a girl who never spoke and only looked at the heavens, and a boy with mismatched socks. Critics referred to it as "whimsically sad."

One day, a man picked up her most recent book at a local book fair. Even if the sky crashed, she would still recognize him despite his older face and longer hair.

Theo.

He grinned. As he turned the pages, he remarked, "I knew a boy like this once." "It feels a lot like me."

Mira returned the smile and nodded slowly.

She did not inform him, though. did not claim that you were the narrative. Certain types of love are only supposed to blossom in the liminal area between maybe and remembrance.

Because there are moons that do not wish to be seen.

All they want is to love the Earth from a distance and shine silently.